


Good Grades

by AdamantSteve



Series: The Polaroid 'Verse [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blowjobs, College AU, Daddy Phil, Daddykink, Lawyer Phil, M/M, Photographer Clint, Studying, polaroid verse, sexy videos, student clint, they have a brief argument but then its ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint’s never had an A before and he’s ok with that. Phil’s ok with that too… but he knows Clint could get an A if he just applied himself!</p><p> </p><p>Phil helps Clint achieve his best grade ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Grades

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by LillyJK and Dunicha. Thanks guys!

 

 

 

 

“Can we have champagne?” Clint asks, biting his lip and looking up at Phil through his eyelashes. Phil lowers his menu and smiles.

 

“Of course! Any occasion?” 

 

“Well,” Clint begins, before being interrupted by the waiter taking their order. Phil orders pink champagne, because why not? 

 

“Ok, so,” Clint continues once they’ve been left alone, “I had a meeting with my tutor today, and she said that I’m on route for a B-grade for the semester.”

 

Phil’s not entirely sure on the grading system at Clint’s college or what that means exactly, but Clint’s grinning, so he follows suit. “Is that… is that good?” 

 

Clint laughs and ducks his head. “For me? That’s amazing. It’s pretty much the highest grade I’ll ever’ve gotten.”

 

Phil’s not his parents, so he’s not going to ask “why not an A?” but still, why _not_ an A? He’s seen Clint’s photographs, they’re incredible, and perhaps he’s biased but he knows Clint’s smart enough to get top marks. Clint’s such a determined person that Phil knows he could get an A if he wanted one.

 

Evidently, Phil’s thought process isn’t quite as internal as he’d have liked, and Clint rolls his eyes. “You knew I wasn’t exactly A-grade material when you met me,” he snorts, and that has Phil reaching across the table to grab his hand, because that’s all kinds of wrong.

 

“First of all, you’re not ‘material’, you’re a person, and not that people deserve ratings, but if I _were_ to rate you, you’d get ten out of ten, top marks. Always. In everything.” 

 

Clint smiles lopsidedly but won’t meet his eyes. Phil can feel him shutting down on him, and he hates that. 

 

“So, what do you have to do for your final grade anyway?” he asks.

 

Clint rubs his thumb along Phil’s knuckles and that lopsided half-smile turns into a proper one as he starts describing what he has planned, the different photographers he’s been inspired by and the art movements he’s been looking into that’ve provided the basis for his final project. Apparently this tutor of his is extremely impressed, and Clint’s clearly very proud of himself, and rightly so in Phil’s opinion. He’s still going by the time they’re halfway through their bottle of champagne and waiting for their main courses to arrive. 

 

“So, if she’s so impressed, how come just a B?” Phil asks eventually, when it seems Clint’s buoyant enough that he won’t close back in on himself again. 

 

He wrinkles his nose and shrugs. “The practical stuff’ll get an A, hopefully, but my written stuff is pretty bad,” he shrugs. “So without that the best I can hope for is a B, maybe a high C.”

 

“I can help with the written stuff,” Phil offers, but Clint hums non-committally. “No?” 

 

“Don’t need it - a C is enough to pass.” 

 

Phil’s stunned for a second. “So you’re just… not going to do it?” 

 

Clint huffs as he pours them both some champagne, looking over his glass at Phil. “Bet you were such a poindexter at school,” he says eventually.

 

Their mains arrive, and are delicious as expected, but something feels off. There’s a challenge radiating from Clint, and Phil knows he’s waiting for something, waiting for Phil to push him so he can get something off his chest. 

 

So he changes the subject. There’s a drinks thing at his office in a few weeks time, and people have been asking after this mysterious new ‘friend’ of his. They know he’s been seeing someone but not many details, thankfully Sitwell and Maria have kept tight-lipped amongst their colleagues. The invitation seems to surprise Clint, and he agrees despite seeming a little uneasy about it. 

 

He’s spiky by the time Phil pays the bill, and won’t meet Phil’s eyes when he thanks him for dinner. They’re waiting in the taxi queue when Clint takes a breath. “I’m gonna take the subway home,” he says quietly, and starts to turn away before Phil can think what to say. 

“Hey!” he says once his brain has figured out what’s happening. Clint’s already a good fifteen yards away and he has to jog to catch up. “Hey,” he says again, thankful when Clint stops as soon as Phil touches his arm. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing, I just have a lot of studying to do.” He says it so huffily that Phil’s reminded just how young he is. “Gotta fit in with all your Harvard friends,” he mutters. 

 

“Oh _Clint_ ,” Phil tuts, and Clint fixes him with a stormy glare. “Forget _them_. I just -“ he gently cups Clint’s jaw and lifts his head so he’ll look him in the eye. “I just want you to achieve your potential. And you have so much potential, Clint. Everything you told me in there? You’re so damn smart and you don’t even… Get that on paper and there’s the written part of your course, right there.” 

 

Clint grits his teeth, jaw moving under Phil’s hand as he scowls before turning away, wrenching himself out of Phil’s hands as he growls, “Like it’s so easy!” Phil glances at the people a few yards away in the taxi queue. By the time he looks back, Clint’s off down the street again.

“Clint,” he says once he’s caught up again, but this time Clint doesn’t stop til Phil stands in front of him. He seems furious. “Stop, please.”

“I can’t do it, ok?” Clint snaps. “I’m a dumb idiot who can’t string two words together let alone write a goddamn _essay_. I thought you’d be happy about me getting a decent grade for once in my life but of course not, everything has to be _perfect_ , right?” 

 

Phil doesn’t know what to say, and they just stand there looking at each other for a long moment before he shakes his head. “I don’t care what grade you get, Clint, I _don’t_ ,” he insists when Clint doesn’t look convinced. “I just want everyone to see what I see, I want _you_ to see what I see. Let me help you? And I won’t… I promise I’ll never judge you for a grade or anything like that. I couldn’t care less about grades.”

 

Clint still looks like he’s simmering with rage, and Phil can’t help but think how if he didn’t know Clint, didn’t know how sweet and kind he is behind his current stony facade, he might even be frightened of him right now. Or write him off as some thuggish young man, angry at the world. He’s sorry for having made him look like that. 

 

But instead of throwing a punch or running off again, the next thing Phil knows is that he’s being hugged tightly by his boy, whose head is hidden against Phil’s neck. He’s clinging tightly, and when Phil puts his arms around him in return, he feels a shudder run through Clint’s body, and what might be a sob. Phil hugs back as tightly as he can in return. 

 

When they’re finally in a taxi back to Phil’s apartment, the both of them politely ignoring Clint’s shining eyes, Phil’s happy to leave any talk of studies or grades for another time (or never, since it’s not his place, it really isn’t). It’s Clint who brings it up once they’re watching TV on Phil’s couch, during an ad for potato chips. 

 

“I didn’t learn to read til I was like, fourteen,” he says quietly, running his fingers over Phil’s knee. He’s facing away, watching the television, so Phil keeps stroking Clint’s hair as he replies. 

 

“How come?” he asks softly, as gentle as can be.

 

“Didn’t really go to school. Then my parents died so me an’ my brother ran away, joined the circus. Don’t really need to read there.” 

 

Phil reaches for the remote and turns the TV down, but not off. He senses Clint needs the TV here as a foil, a conceit - they’re just watching TV, not having a heart to heart. Clint’s not the kind to have deep conversations about his feelings or his past, Phil knows that much.

 

“What happened when you were fourteen?” 

 

“Got put in the system,” Clint replies quietly, and Phil’s glad he turned the TV down or he might’ve missed it. 

 

Phil strokes his fingers through Clint’s hair, and leans down to press a kiss into it too. For all the crap he himself had going on when he was a teenager, he’s not sure how he’d have survived if he’d been half illiterate and in foster care as well. A surge of protectiveness runs through him, and he moves so his arm is round Clint, keeping him as close and safe as he can without being too obvious about it. 

 

“Turn it up, will you?” Clint grumbles after a while, as if the conversation never happened.

 

-

 

“Ok,” Phil says the next morning, having left a sleeping Clint with a note promising he’d be back with breakfast. He came home to a sleep-rumpled Clint making coffee in his underwear and one of Phil’s tshirts, and Phil’s unspeakably happy to have found him still here. He’s almost frightened to bring the essay up again but he places the bag on the kitchen counter. “I got you something.”

 

Clint’s eyes light up like they always do when he hears those magic words, and Phil really hopes this wasn’t a mistake. 

 

“It’s a dictaphone,” he says, pulling it out with a flourish. “I thought we could record you talking about your coursework and I could help transcribe it. If you want.” 

 

Clint’s face falls. “Oh.” 

 

“I bought some pastries as well.”

 

Clint huffs a laugh. “Ok,” he says hesitantly, but there’s a smile hiding in there somewhere. “But don’t expect a masterpiece.” 

 

-

 

They don’t get into it til after breakfast and Clint’s shower, when Phil prods a whining, still damp Clint into the living room. He googles some of the photographers Clint had mentioned last night, and turns on the recorder before placing it next to the laptop on the coffee table and joining Clint on the couch. 

 

Phil clicks open one of the photographers’ wikipedia pages. “Ok, so, tell me about this guy.” 

 

“Phil, this is dumb.” 

 

“C’mon, I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You’ll have to wait and see.” Phil leans in to kiss Clint on the cheek. “Just, tell me who he is. What does he do?” 

 

Clint huffs theatrically. “What do you want me to say? He’s a guy. He takes pictures. Anyway that’s not even who I was talking about. Here-“ he leans forward and taps something in, and Phil hides a smile. His plan is totally working, he can feel it.

 

Twenty minutes later, Clint’s explained a half dozen photographers’ work to Phil with varying degrees of eye rollery and sass, but he’s grinning and using his hands as he waxes lyrical about what he does and doesn’t like about each of their work. Phil feels like he’s fit to burst with pride and no small measure of relief. He’d been slightly afraid Clint would just storm out when he came home with the dictaphone, so this is an excellent result. 

 

Phil’s questions seem like the sort of thing that’d be appropriate for the sort of essay he _thinks_ Clint needs to write, though he has no real idea without seeing the brief. Still, when it comes time to put it down on paper it’ll illustrate just how much knowledge and intellect is locked up inside his boy’s head, and that’s what matters, if only for Clint’s benefit. Phil doesn’t think Clint has any idea how smart he actually is, and it’s his job to see that he does.

 

“Tell me about your project,” Phil prompts after Clint seems to have gotten to the end of explaining exactly what he thinks about Edward Bierstadt, and Clint whines.

“Oh _c’mon_ ,” he pouts. “You just made me describe like, the best photographers ever and now you want me to tell you about _my_ dumb project?”

 

“It’s not dumb, and yes. Someday someone’ll be writing essays about Clint Barton’s amazing work. So we’d better set the record straight before then.” 

 

Clint doesn’t look convinced, so Phil kisses him on the cheek again. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

 

Clint rolls his eyes. “You said that before,” he says. 

 

-

 

Clint’s gorgeous when he really gets into the flow of things, and Phil will be damned if he’s not going to reward his boy for being so good and playing along. Once Clint’s gone back over most of the things he’d said last night in the restaurant, Phil gets up, picking up the dictaphone and placing it on the couch before grabbing a cushion and sliding to his knees in front of Clint.

 

Clint stops mid-flow, eyebrows raised as Phil makes himself comfortable between his legs. 

 

“Don’t stop,” says Phil, nudging the dictaphone closer to Clint before reaching for Clint’s fly. Clint gapes at him, scandalised. 

 

“Keep going,” Phil prompts again.

 

“You’re unbelievable,” Clint says, tipping his head back and laughing before lifting his hips to let Phil tug his jeans down. 

 

Clint’s dick is fat and solid under Phil’s palm when he rubs his hand down the front of the underwear he bought for Clint weeks ago, and Clint’s voice trembles when Phil presses a kiss to the fabric.

 

“My boyfriend is a sadist,” Clint tells the recorder, “that’s what my project is about.”

 

Phil positions himself right where he wants to be, Clint’s half-hard dick in hand, mouth hovering. He looks up and waits for Clint to keep talking about his work before lowering his head and closing his eyes in pleasure when he hears Clint’s voice catch mid-sentence as he very precisely licks the tip of his tongue over the head.

 

Clint manages a few more paragraphs-worth of essay information before Phil’s ministrations really make him lose his train of thought, but that’s ok, there’s more than enough for a good start. Phil sucks Clint down, finding Clint’s hands to put on his head so he can direct him exactly where he wants him.

“Fuck, Daddy,” Clint gasps, fingers tightening in Phil’s hair as he moves him, tentatively at first, before growing bolder. Phil’s hard too, but he’s content to leave his own pleasure as he takes care of his boy’s. He wants Clint to feel how cherished and loved he is, how much Phil appreciates everything about him and how proud he is of him. It’s not long before Clint’s movements speed up and become less coordinated, so Phil takes over again, keeping to the pace Clint set but sucking him through an orgasm that has Clint gasping and keening as he spills into Phil’s mouth. 

 

Phil swallows, wiping his face when he finally sits back on his heels and looks up at Clint, who’s staring dazedly at the ceiling. He reaches for a tissue and realises the dictaphone’s still recording, laughing as he wipes his hands and turns it off. 

 

“I never knew studying could be this kinda fun,” Clint murmurs, and Phil leans sideways to press a chaste kiss to his knee. 

 

-

 

After a hearty lunch of elaborate sandwiches, Clint has to go back to college to do some developing in the dark room, since it’s usually quieter on the weekend, and Phil heads to his home office for his laptop. He has some work to do, and the usual weekend chores, but instead of doing any of that, he goes straight for the recorder.

 

It takes a while to get everything transcribed, trying to keep as close to what Clint said rather than re-wording things too much. He leaves out Clint’s whining and complaints about his Daddy being so mean and making him do homework on the weekend, even though listening to him saying such things has Phil pressing a palm against his crotch and willing another erection away. It’s such a common occurrence lately that he’ll have thoughts of Clint running through his head whilst at work that he actually forgets he’s at home and can have all the erections he wants, thank you very much. 

 

With that realisation in mind, Phil rewinds and listens again to Clint huffing ‘Daddy,’ palming his cock right there at the kitchen table. He realises once he gets to the end of the recording that he’d not really heard what Clint was saying at the time, too busy concentrating on his lips wrapped around the boy’s cock. Now he listens as talk about portraiture and framing turns into “oh that feels so-“ and “oh fuck please, yeah, oh Daddy, oh-“ and so on. Phil closes his eyes and remembers the velvet smooth weight of Clint’s perfect dick in his mouth and comes with a moan of his own.

 

God, he has it bad.

 

**I just came listening to me giving you a blowjob,** Phil texts Clint after washing his hands in the kitchen sink and tidying himself up.

 

**So it was all a weird sex thing? shoulda known ;)**

 

Phil smiles goofily at his phone before finishing off his transcription, thankfully now at least slightly immune to the breathless descriptions towards the end of it.

 

**I’ve emailed you a transcript of everything we recorded. My smart boy xx**

 

Clint doesn’t reply, but Phil supposes he’s probably busy in the darkroom. A few hours later, when Phil’s putting a second load of laundry into the dryer, he gets a text saying, 

 

**Aw whyd you cut out the bj? that was the best part :p**

 

**Wasn’t sure it was essay appropriate, but I saved it so I can listen whenever I like ;)**

 

**Thank u daddy :)**

 

\- - -

 

Clint hates writing. Words are so slippery and difficult - they swim into his mind and then slip away just as he’s trying to pin them down, leaving only the slowest and stupidest ones on the page. 

 

He’s been in the library for two hours and has barely added anything to the stuff Phil emailed over. It’s really tempting to just ask Daddy to do it for him - he probably would if Clint begged enough, but he’s not going to. Clint Barton is going to finish this essay if it kills him. 

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he gets it out to see a text from Phil. **How’s it going, sweetheart?**

 

Clint looks at the computer screen in front of him, looks at the little box that says how many words are in the document and sighs. He has to pull another 300 words out of his ass and he doesn’t know what else he could possibly add. 

 

**Writing is hard :’(**

 

**Check your email x**

 

Clint saves his work for the ninetieth time and clicks over to his email. Phil has sent him a bunch of links to ‘how to flesh out an essay’ type articles, and Clint rolls his eyes fondly. At the bottom of the email is a little message from Phil that reads: _Once you’ve finished your first draft, send it over and I’ll see about a special reward ;)_

 

“ _Whaaat_ ,” Clint mutters under his breath: Phil only uses wink emojis when he’s talking about something sexy. He squirms in his seat as he wonders what Phil might be planning. Maybe a visit to a hotel again like their first date, or another box of sex toys, not that Clint’s even halfway through trying all the ones Phil sent last time. 

 

The phone buzzes loudly on the desk and Clint jumps, guiltily looking about for any librarians that might be about to frown at him for making noise or using his phone. The coast is clear, which is good since Clint honest to god yelps when he sees what Phil’s just sent him. 

 

It’s a video, only two seconds long, of Phil undoing his fly. Just his perfectly pressed trousers with that belt of his, slowly pulling down the zipper with one hand. 

 

**A preview ;) x** says the attached message, and Clint plays it about five more times before looking at his essay in dismay. 

 

“C’mon, man,” Clint mutters, and this time a librarian passing by with a cart of books tuts at him.

 

Ok. He can do this. It’s just three hundred words. That’s like, three paragraphs or something, right? Phil said Clint needs to write an introduction that explains what he’s gonna talk about in the rest of the essay, and a conclusion, which basically says ‘hey assholes I did what I told you I would do in the introduction so GTFO’. That’s how Clint put it anyway, and Phil had smiled and said “pretty much,” before telling Clint he was proud of him and all that shit that makes Clint feel all breathless, like he’s going too high on a swing. 

 

He cracks his knuckles and starts typing. 

 

-

 

**42 words over the minimum!** Clint texts two hours later. He’s pretty sure he repeated himself a bunch of times and there’s a lot of those green squiggle things that mean Clint’s an idiot, but still, there’s an intro, a conclusion and even a bibliography thing too. Like a real person essay. He emails it to Phil and then sits there looking at his phone, as if Phil’s just dicking around at home waiting for Clint to send him messages. 

 

“What am I even doing?” Clint mutters to himself, shaking his head and packing away his things. The cafeteria should still be open for dinner, he thinks, saving the essay on google drive, in an email draft to himself and to a battered old flash drive that lives on his keys. It’s the first essay he’s ever really worked hard on, he is not about to lose it to computer gremlins.

 

He’s in the quad when he gets a call, and he picks it up without looking.

 

“Hi Daddy, are you proud of me?” 

 

“Uh,” says someone who is definitely not Phil. “Is this Clint Barton?” 

 

Shit, what now? 

 

“Maybe?” Clint replies, trying to work out if he’s pissed anyone off lately or missed any of the complicated-ass college payment form things he has to send off all the time for his bursaries and stuff.

 

“I’m outside your building, dude. Your food’s getting cold.” 

 

“What?” 

 

The guy on the other end of the call sighs dramatically. “Listen, guy, if this is a prank it’s a pretty dumb one because this food has already been paid for and I got no problem leaving it out here and letting the rats have it.”

 

“No, no, uh,” Clint rounds the corner and sees a guy holding a couple of big brown bags outside his building. “Hey, there you are!” Clint waves and the guy hangs up as he comes over.

 

“I got places to be, man,” the guy says, handing over the bags of food from Clint’s favourite Thai place. 

 

“I know, I’m so sorry,” Clint replies, though he’s not really that sorry and he has to fight not to grin - he had no idea his wonderful Daddy would have bought him dinner. 

 

-

 

**I love you!** Clint types once he’s back in his room, but then winces and presses delete. He doesn’t want to freak Phil out or anything. He sends off a photo of all the food on his desk and writes **I love Jade Garden! Thank you daddy! xxxxxxxxx** Before hunting for some chopsticks.

 

**Phew, you got it! I’m reading your essay now. Good work, Clint! Let me know when you’ve eaten and I’ll send you your other present ;)**

 

“Oh my god!” Clint exclaims, already wolfing down crab dumplings when Phil texts: **Don’t eat too fast!**

 

**Are u spying on me?!**

 

**No I just know you :P**

 

Clint grins like he does anytime Phil uses emojis and tries to pace himself, texting when he’s finished his first attempt at the food (which will last most of the week if he’s careful), **OK, all done!** He sends a photo of himself rubbing his tummy and looking satisfied, though he still holds in his stomach to show his six pack as best he can. Clint knows what side his bread is buttered on.

 

**You can’t show this to anyone, promise?**

 

**OMG what is it!? I promise I won’t show anyone xx**

 

Nothing happens for about two minutes, and Clint’s about to text again when a video arrives. He’s not sure what he expected but it certainly wasn’t… whatever this is.

 

The video starts with Phil placing the phone in some kind of holder and then stepping back, though not so far you can see his face. He’s in his best suit, the deep blue one that Clint loves, and he’s wearing the tie he wore on their first date, too. The one Clint got come on. The video isn’t high enough quality to see the stain, but Clint knows it’s there. He also knows that Phil doesn’t usually wear it anymore, so he must have put it on especially for this video. 

 

Phil straightens his tie and shucks his sleeves, smooths down his lapels  but then unbuttons his jacket with one deft flick of his wrist. 

 

Clint’s transfixed. “No way,” he breathes as Phil smooths his tie down again but keeps going, past his belt to the zipper on his fly, which he inches down excruciatingly slowly. Phil moves the right side of his jacket out of the way and frames the length of his cock under the fabric. His next move is to reach inside his fly and pull his cock out, letting it hang against the fabric of his pants like it isn’t the filthiest thing Clint can imagine. He imagines kneeling there, opening his mouth obediently just waiting for that glorious cock to be fed to him, imagines licking Phil clean and then putting him away nice and neat before Phil goes off to whatever fancyass meetings he has with his fancyass coworkers, who’d all be none the wiser. 

 

On Clint’s phone, Phil starts working his cock, and Clint’s never quite gotten a good look at Phil jerking off before, not on his own anyway - Clint usually gets involved whenever he can. Phil’s hands are gorgeous, even more so with one wrapped around that cock and the other reaching beneath to draw out his balls as well.

 

Clint’s cock twitches as if to remind him it’s there and he hustles over to the bed and gets out the lube so he can join in. On screen, Phil’s speeding up, his hips moving just the tiniest bit as he gets into it. It’s just about the hottest thing Clint thinks he’s ever seen. 

 

“C’mon, Daddy,” Clint whispers, biting his lip and then moaning when Phil moves his left hand to look at his watch. That just _does_ something to Clint, makes him feel like Phil’s on a schedule and doesn’t have time for this, that he’s really making a special effort for Clint’s sake. He knows that’s why Phil did it, too, which just adds another layer of arousal to the whole thing. “Please,” he hears himself saying, lifting his hips to thrust into his own hand. “Please, Daddy.”

 

Phil’s working his cock faster and faster, his hand just a blur at this point. Clint matches him but is determined to hold out til his Daddy comes first, because it almost seems rude not to, not that he’ll ever know. Soft moans come from the tiny speakers of Clint’s phone and he turns it up to hear them, matching them with his own. When Phil comes, Clint’s almost scared for the suit, which is half the fun, he knows. But Phil’s too professional to get any on himself, whiteness running over his hand as he strokes himself through the last of it. He gets closer to the phone again, that come-covered hand disappearing out of frame, and Clint starts coming to the idea of Phil licking come off of his own hand and finishes to the unmistakable sound of Phil saying, _“A special reward for my good boy._ ” 

 

Clint pretty much passes out after that, sated by food and sex, only coming to when he gets another text. Holding his gross hand out of the way and checking the message with the other, Clint laughs when he sees what Phil’s sent. 

 

**Too much? :S**

 

**That ws the hotdfs thin ive ever sen,** Clint writes back, before cursing, putting the phone down and wiping off his hands with a leftover napkin. 

 

**Lemme try that again. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen! Ever! JFC Do u have any idea how sexy u are?**

 

There’s a wait for the next message, and Clint starts tidying food up so he can squeeze it into the tiny space he has in the communal fridge down the hall. 

 

**I’m glad you liked it. I really am so proud of you.**

 

**Aw, you’re too nice to me, Daddy ;)**

 

**Nothing less than what you deserve. Are you going to bed now?**

 

Clint pads down the hall in his socks and shoves his leftovers in the fridge, writing CLINT B on them with the big thick sharpie that lives with the letter magnets that spell out ‘u r 4 8utt’. **Yep, bed time for me. Had a v busy day, working so hard ;)**

 

**I know! You’ve been working very hard and I’m so impressed :)**

 

Clint cringes when he walks back into his room - it smells like food and come, so he opens the window and wishes he had one of Natasha’s millions of vanilla scented candles. At least his roommate isn’t around to comment on it. Sam spends all his time over at Steve and Bucky’s lately, so much so that Clint’s convinced they’re either in a threeway relationship or they’re doing some kind of weird art project and haven’t invited him. Nah, they wouldn’t dare not invite Clint to photograph their weird ‘lets get naked and paint each others bodies ‘for art’’ projects. Clint’s the best at that. He’ll have to ask Nat about it tomorrow when he’s stealing one of her candles. 

 

**Goodnight Daddy, I love you,** Clint writes and then says “what the fuck, Clint,” before deleting the **I love you** and adding about a million kisses instead. Since when did he ever have the instinct to go about throwing the L word all over the place? 

 

**Sleep well x**

 

**\- - -**

 

**Daddy! LOOK**

 

Phil jumps when his phone vibrates in his pocket; he zoned out going through a client’s contract for the fifth time looking for errant spelling mistakes and is more than happy to be sprung out of his reverie by a text from his boyfriend. He opens the text and sees what appears to be a couple of pictures of white rectangles. He frowns, zooms in and then nearly drops his phone when he punches the air. 

 

It’s the semester grades, Clint’s name with a bunch of percentages and then an A at the end of the row. 

 

**Does that mean what I think it means?**

 

**I GOT AN A!**

 

There’s another picture that’s just a blurry closeup of the A itself, and Phil laughs as Clint sends a flurry of texts that express just how pleased he is. Phil almost wells up at the pride he feels for his wonderful boy’s hard work, and he’s so pleased to know that Clint can hopefully see just how smart he can be. How smart he _is._

 

**Dinner tonight to celebrate? x**

 

Clint calls Phil’s phone, which is unusual for him. There are whoops and hollering going on in the background and Clint sounds over the moon. “Daddy, did you see!?” 

 

“Yes I did! You did it, baby!” 

 

“ _We_ did it! I couldn’ta done it without you.” 

 

“I’m so proud of you, Clint.” 

 

Clint is silent for a moment and Phil wishes he were there to pull him close for a tight hug and a kiss, to show just how proud he really is. 

 

“Uh, some of the guys are going out to celebrate...”

 

“We can go out for dinner another day, don’t worry about it, go have fun with your friends.” 

 

Clint’s relief is palpable even down the phone, as if he was afraid Phil might insist he drop his friends and hang out with him. 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Of course! Just don’t overdo it, ok? Be safe.” 

 

“Ok, Daddy. I love you.” 

 

Phil is stunned into silence for a moment, and he feels his face flush as he stammers out, “I.. I love you too, Clint.” 

 

“I gotta go!” Clint blurts, and Phil nods even though Clint can’t see him. “Uh, bye!”

 

Phil stares at the phone for a long while after Clint hangs up, and then gets up and punches the air some more before setting that blurry photo of Clint’s grade as his phone’s background picture. 

 

-

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be more in this universe because it is my favourite.


End file.
